


Grit to Build a Pearl Around

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Dean Winchester, Dean/OFC mentions, Dirty Talk, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, Feminization, First Time, Grooming, Id Fic, M/M, Manipulation, Painful Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sibling Incest, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: Sam always helps his big brother out.  Even when it hurts.





	Grit to Build a Pearl Around

**Author's Note:**

> Darker than my usual id fic. Dean's not nice here. I meant this as extremely dubious consent but tagged it for non-con just in case.
> 
> Starts when Sam is nine and ends when he's eleven, so consider yourself warned.
> 
> A million black-souled kisses to silver9mm for the uber-speedy beta <3
> 
> Title from a Richard Siken poem because I'm both depraved and basic.

Dean’s thirteen the first time Sam helps him out.

“You see how she’s doing it, Sammy?”

Louisville isn’t half bad so far.  Dad’s got a steady gig at a local transport garage, and a lonely single mother next door who drops off an inordinate amount of casseroles.

Dad visits her sometimes, like tonight. 

“With her tongue like that?”

Dean’s got his dick in his hand and his eyes glued to the screen.  Dean loves nights like tonight, when their dad’s out and he can get his dick out and watch porn.

“Yeah.”

Sam nods, his own eyes glazed over as he studies the babysitter kneeling on his screen.  Dean likes to touch himself when they watch porn but it just makes Sam’s stomach feel funny, like he’s about to open a present and walk into a new classroom all at once.

“His dick’s hard just like mine, right?”

Dean’s dick isn’t as scary looking as the guy’s on the screen, but it still makes Sam’s neck feel itchy on the back.  Dean’s been growing a lot.

“Need you to help me, Sammy.”

Dean’s hand goes up and down, up and down, the curl of his palm hiding the head of Dean’s dick just to jut it back out again.  Sam’s seen it lots of times, even felt it when Dean showed him how to touch himself when it’s just them.

Dean’s always teaching him stuff.

“Gotta help me drain the pipes.”

Sam’s brain clicks together and his mouth has too much spit in it.  He swallows, watching pink lips slide up and down.

“You wanna help me, don’t you, Sammy?”

Sam nods, open-mouthed and humming in his ears.  At least Dean’s isn’t as big as the movie star’s.

“Just do what she’s doing.”

Sam gets on his knees and does his best to imitate the girl on the TV.  Dean’s dick tastes funny, like kissing him with salt all over.  Sam tries to get it all the way down but he chokes halfway.  Dean doesn’t seem to mind.

“Feels good, Sammy.”

Dean’s hand helps him out, sliding back and forth and moving Sam’s mouth with it.  It’s easier when Sam spits a little.  His mouth is so wet by the end that he barely notices the spoonful of come Dean twitches out onto his tongue.

Dean still tells him to swallow it.

“You’re the best little brother.”

He tucks Sam under his arm afterwards, lets him stay there until the movie ends and there’s only blue fuzz washing over the screen.

He helps Dean drain his pipes a lot after that.

~

Dean’s fourteen when he starts fucking girls.

“Her fucking pussy, Sammy.”

Dean’s whispered breath smells like beer, that musty curl that always smells better on Dean than it does on their dad.  They’ve been in Florence, South Carolina for two months, in a monthly sublet that backends onto a trailer park and what Sam had quickly learned only weirdos call “wetland.”  It’s a swamp. 

Dean takes up most of their shared twin bed as he sprawls across it.  Sam tucks his legs under himself on the wobbly desk chair he uses to do his homework.  Even in autumn the air is heavy and humid, tucking around Sam’s bent shoulders and sticking the sheets to Dean’s bare legs.

“The girls around here, I swear.”

Apparently trailer park girls give it up easy.  Girls love Dean. 

“God, she got so fucking wet. Got my mouth on her tits and started sucking, shit, should’ve heard the sounds she made for me, Sammy.”

Sam’s swiped some beer but it still tastes nasty.  Maybe when he’s older drinking it will make his eyes glimmer when he talks about girls.

“You know that, right, Sammy?  When girls get turned on their pussies get all wet and slippery for you.  Lets your dick slide right in.”

Sam’s heard Dean talk about it enough times, God knows, but it still sounds weird, like having snot between your legs. 

“Bet you could still taste her on me.”

Sam unfolds one leg and leans his head to the side.  Dean’s only half-hard when he unzips himself. 

“You gotta help me out, ok, Sammy?  Gotta help me clean up, or I could, like, get an infection or something.”

Sam nods.  He helps Dean drain the pipes all the time, it’s not like it’s that different.

Dean has girls but he still needs Sam’s help, after all.

~

Dean’s fifteen and he’s pacing the house like a caged animal.

“I would literally rather be in Florida.”

Dean glares at the whiteout snowscape outside their two-room Montana cabin.  It could be worse – the electricity’s still running and they’ve got enough wood to build three new cabins.

“Haven’t had any fucking pussy in weeks.”

Dean’s beer dangles from his fingers, his thumb twitching over the rim of the bottle in tight circles. 

“At least there’s beer.”

Sam shrugs at the apocalypse-worthy stash of Coors towering in one corner.  He’s been opening them for Dean for four days straight. 

“I can’t fuck a beer, Sammy.”

“Do you—” Sam bites his lip.  Sometimes Dean gets pissy when he says it out loud.

“Do you want me to help you drain the pipes again?”

Dean’s eyes light on him, trailing up and down as his thumb presses flat over the neck of his beer.  It makes Sam’s skin itch under his sweats.

“You’re real good to me, Sammy.”

Half of Dean’s mouth smiles and all of Sam’s skin prickles.  Dad seems to piss Sam off more and more lately but being a good little brother to Dean still puffs Sam’s chest even if he won’t admit it.

“I don’t mind, I can—”

“S’not the same.”

Dean plants himself on the couch with a thud, his legs splaying open.  The whole place only has one room, with a little curtain to separate the bathroom.  Sam had shivered through a brief shower after helping Dean fight off his morning hard-on and his afternoon hangover. 

“I know.”

Sam plops down next to Dean and runs a hand through his half-damp hair.  It all wants to fall into his eyes lately.  Dad’s been on him to get a haircut for weeks.

“Don’t even have any goddamn porn.”

Sam slides his palms over his knees. 

“Tell me about Regina Marston again.”

Dean always likes talking about his girls.  Brothers don’t have secrets, not that Sam has any to tell Dean. 

“Regina,” Dean sighs, a full smile spreading his face as he tilts his head back against the couch.  His hand slides over his dick, tucked back from Sam’s faithful brother duty two beers ago.

“God, that girl could suck a dick.”

Dean’s hand works up and down, grinding against his dick

It’s not like Sam doesn’t jerk off.  But his dick’s not big in his hand the way Dean’s is, doesn’t spit out ever-growing palmfuls of creamy stuff. 

“Don’t believe what they say, Sammy, slutty girls are the best.”

Sam doesn’t keep secrets but he’s happy Dean can’t read his mind.  His stomach hurts and his underwear feels too tight and his lips want to pout all at once whenever Dean talks about Regina, the blow job queen of Springfield.  Maybe it’s sort of a secret. 

“I don’t mind eating leftovers when they’ve got tits like hers.  And she was down for anything.  Heard she let Tom Hockney fuck her in the ass.”

Dean’s head is still arched back against the couch as his eyes slide over to Sam.  He gives his cock a firm squeeze before he settles, so still that Sam starts to squirm.

“Why don’t you finish this one, Sammy.”

Dean hands him an almost-full beer and narrows his eyes.  Sam never got a taste for the stuff, not really, but he takes a few obliging swallows.  Half his burp bubbles out his nose while Dean laughs.

“You’re a Winchester, Sammy, drain that shit.”

Dean’s voice is playful but Sam drinks the rest of his beer as fast as he can.  He’s warmer, a flush spreading across his cheeks from the alcohol and Dean’s rapt attention.  He manages to fake most of the beers he “shares” with Dean but there’s no hiding now. 

“Atta boy.”

Sam smiles, fuzzy on the inside and a little giddy when Dean slings his arm around him and pulls him over.  Dean’s so warm.

“Christ, my dick’s so fucking hard, Sammy.”

Dean gets weird if Sam touches it too early.  He curls his hands into fists, letting his nails bite into the meat of his palm.

“It hurts, you know?”

Sam licks his lips on instinct.  He moves to the side, ready to get on his knees.  He hates seeing Dean so miserable.

“You’re a good little brother, aren’t you, Sammy?”

Dean’s arm tightens around him.  Sam nods, his mouth wet and his knees frozen.

“I wanna try something, ok?”

Dean stumbles as he rises to his feet, at least a little drunk.  He doesn’t take his eyes off Sam as he unzips and shoves his pants down, stepping out of them with a lurch.  His eyes shine as he takes Sam’s hand.

“Take your pants off, Sammy.”

Sam’d had a blowout with their dad a month ago, over what he can’t even remember.  It had been something stupid but it had ended with Dad screaming that Sam was a disobedient little shit.

He’s not.  Sam slides his sweatpants into a puddle without a second thought.  It’s the beer and the cold air on his bare skin and Dean’s hand around his wrist that make Sam shiver, not the low, authoritative drawl in Dean’s voice.

“Heard some girls even like it.”

Dean’s voice slurs a little but that same good-bad kick hits Sam in the stomach.

“Watched a bunch of movies, back at Caleb’s.”

The last time they’d stayed at Caleb’s, John had muttered that he was happy he didn’t have daughters.

“Never done it, but.”

Sam’s dick is hard, as hard as it gets which is still nothing next to Dean.  Dean drops his wrist and licks his lips.

“He said it feels even better.”

It’s almost a relief when Dean pushes him to his knees.  Sam’s mind jumps like a skipped record, back and forth between the tight knot in his gut and the toe-curling warmth of Dean manhandling him to bend over the seat of the couch.

He and Dean live on top of each other.  He’s seen Dean perform every bodily function known to man and vice versa.  He knows where all of Dean’s butt freckles are. 

Sam still wants to barf and laugh all at once when Dean’s hands pull his butt cheeks apart.

“Dean.”

Sam hisses it through his teeth, not sure what’s he’s trying to say.  Dean’s not really listening anyway.

“Shit.”

Dean’s right behind him, close enough that Sam can feel the too-hot press of his dick against Sam’s goosebumped thigh. 

“Close your legs a little.”

Dean knee-kicks him like a slow horse.

“Yeah, look at that.”

Sam’s dick twitches where it’s trapped between his thighs and the worn-down couch cushion.

“Almost look like a fucking girl with that hair.”

“Don’t move.”

Dean knocks a beer bottle over on his way to the bathroom.  The curtain rustles and what sound like a dozen things clatter to the floor before Dean’s back behind him.

“Can’t get wet for me, but that’s ok.”

Something pops open in Dean’s hands.  Normally Sam can’t take his sights off Dean but even looking at the pebbly upholstery on the couch is too much for Sam’s eyes right now.  Everything swims even when he closes them.

He can feel it in his teeth when Dean slides the wet head of his dick across his asshole.  He’d been in PE when Ralph Lagner had had an asthma attack, can still remember the pained wheeze he’d made while Ms. Gorlin had run for his inhaler.  This must be what he felt like.  Sam’s chest tightens up but his dick feels like it’s as big as Dean’s as he shivers against the couch.

“Bet this pussy’s fucking tight.”

Dean palms him open again, stretching Sam’s skin until it burns.

“Is,” Sam hiccups, his voice barely audible where his face is buried in the couch.

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“Always hurts the first time, sweetheart.”

Sam digs his fingers into the seam of the couch.

Sam knows hurt.  Sam’s run suicides until he throws up, gotten punched in the face and kicked in the side and tossed against the floor in the name of “toughening up.”  Sam can take hurt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Sam can hear the arch in Dean’s lips.  Sam’s little brother lizard-brain stirs to say something back but he can’t, can’t do anything when he gasps at the slick press right above his balls.

It smells like the school nurse’s office in Lehigh as Sam dumbly realizes that Dean’s smearing Vaseline on his asshole.   

Sam’s never touched himself there except in passing.  Even biting on his lip can’t stop it from trembling when Dean presses and shit, fuck, holy shit fuck shit Dean.  Sam’s arms flail out to the sides as he tries to scramble up the couch, his socked feet scraping against the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going, baby?”

Dean’s voice is soft but his hand digs hard into Sam’s hip.  Sam takes a shaky breath, fireworks crashing behind his eyes and his skin boiling.

“Sorry.”

Something circles around Sam’s hole and Sam’s stomach swoops.  Those were just Dean’s fingers.

“Hole’s fucking tight for me.”

Through Dean’s gritted teeth it hits Sam like a compliment.  That’s the best thing Dean could say about a girl.  It doesn’t hurt any less when Dean forces his thumb back inside him but Sam keeps as still as he can.

“Gonna give your cherry up for me, honey?”

Dean’s voice is syrupy sweet where he’s making Sam burn. 

“Yeah.”

Sam chokes it out, wishing it back before Dean growls softly and leans over him.  Dean works his finger deeper and sighs.

“Even got a girl’s name, don’t you, Sammy?”

It’s a long-standing sore spot with him but Sam’s aching too bad to notice one more bruise.

“You’re my girl tonight.”

Sam moans open-mouthed into the couch, his lips spread Regina-wide even if he’s not as pretty. 

He’s Dean’s tonight.

“Now hold still.”

The couch is gonna leave marks on his face Sam’s pressing into it so hard.  He braces himself, squeezes his eyes shut and swallows. 

Something much, much bigger than Dean’s finger tears into him and Sam’s eyes roll back into his head.  He doesn’t run but it’s only because he can’t move at all, can’t do anything except cry open-mouthed and try not to puke.

“Dean, I can’t, fuck.”

“Shh, let me in, baby, that’s it.”

He’s shaking so hard his teeth click.  He’s on fire, doused in gasoline and sparking up from his toes to the tears burning in his eyes.  Dean doesn’t let up, pressing down on him until Sam feels a pop like he just split in half.

“Shit,” Dean bites off, the hand not steadying Sam’s hip smacking down onto the arm of the couch.

“It’s too big, Dean, please.”

“That’s just the head, Sammy.”

Dean clucks his tongue and circles his hips and Sam stops breathing. 

“Gotta take the whole thing.”

Dean always says that girls like how thick his cock is.  Every inch scrapes Sam raw on the inside, dragging against shivering muscle and Sam’s desperate, clenching attempts to spit him out backwards. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Sammy.”

Sam manages a breath that puts Ralph’s albuterol wheeze to shame.  Dean shushes him again, ignoring the raw hiccups of Sam’s breath as he sinks deeper.

“Hurts,” Sam whispers, half-drooled into the couch cushions. 

“Bet it does,” Dean mutters under his breath.  He runs his hand up Sam’s side, the gentleness in his touch scraping a whole new sound of out Sam’s throat.

“Just relax for me, sweetheart, that’s it.”

Dean pulls back and Sam swears half his guts go with him.  He gurgles out half a sound as Dean sinks back rough enough to smack their skin together.

“I’m the one doing all the work, you just gotta lay there and take it.”

It takes all of Sam’s energy just to remember to breathe.   He ragdolls under Dean, forgetting to keep his legs closed as his half-hard dick rasps against the couch. 

“Been holding out on me, Sammy.”

Dean’s so deep Sam can taste it.  He fucks Sam in tight, sharp thrusts, shaking him apart one inch at a time. 

“Hiding this fucking pussy, feels so good, Sammy, Christ.”

Sam’s bones dissolve in his skin when Dean starts to really fuck him.  It hurts, hurts all over, hurt like it’ll never stop and he’ll never get Dean out from under his skin again.  Sam doesn’t realize how much noise he’s making until Dean bends over him and laughs in his ear.

“Yeah, like it when you moan like a little bitch for it.”

It’s the worst best way Dean’s ever used his favorite nickname.  Dean’s breath tickles against his skin as his cock smacks in and out, wet and noisy like the porn Dean likes the best. 

“Gonna come, Sammy.”

Dean’s body drapes over him, covering Sam’s back and blacking out anything but the blistering heat of his cock fucking hard into Sam’s virgin-tight body.  For all the times Sam’s imagined it, the sounds Dean makes when he presses his forehead to Sam’s panic-sweaty neck never sounded this raw, like Dean hurts on the inside just as much as Sam does.  His teeth scrape against Sam’s skin.

“Cream that little cunt good.”

Sam would’ve guessed that he’d feel it but the only change is how tense Dean gets, locked up around him.  Sam can barely breathe under his weight.

“Not like I’m gonna knock you up.”

Dean’s laugh echoes against Sam’s back.

“Give that pussy up so good, Sammy, should’ve started fucking you years ago.”

Sam’s arm is half-asleep when he unfolds it and reaches back to grab Dean.  Just because Sam can’t say it doesn’t mean it should be a secret, that he’s not ready to let Dean go, that the second Dean’s not inside him time’s gonna start moving again and Sam won’t.

“Jesus, Sam.”

Dean’s breath is ragged against his ear.

“You’re good to me, God, you’re so good to me, I don’t—”

Sam doesn’t have any breath left to lose as Dean’s arms wrap around him.  It’s a shock of wetness when Dean shifts and slips out of him, startling Sam to raise his tear-wet face from the couch and mumble  _ ohmygodohmygod  _ until Dean shushes him.  Dean rears back, frowning down at Sam’s ass.

“Shit, I really tore you up.”

Sam draws in a shaky breath and swallows the bitter taste in his mouth while Dean curses and prods at him.

“It’s just the first time.”

It hurts like fuck but Sam can still move.  He hides most of his wince as he crawls up to sit on the couch.  If girls can learn to live with it so can Sam.

“It won’t be so bad next time, right?”

“Next time,” Dean repeats under his breath, his eyes soft as he smiles at Sam.  It’s worth every ache throbbing in Sam’s body when Dean kisses him on the forehead and cracks open a beer.

“I got the best little brother, huh?”

Sam tucks himself small under Dean’s arm and smiles.  Sometimes helping hurts but he’s still the best at it.

 


End file.
